


Impossible Girls

by Turn_of_the_Sonic_Screw



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005), Doctor Who RPF
Genre: F/F, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Light Dom/sub, Self-cest, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-08
Updated: 2015-11-25
Packaged: 2018-02-20 09:01:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 4,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2422955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Turn_of_the_Sonic_Screw/pseuds/Turn_of_the_Sonic_Screw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five (make that eight) times Clara Oswald shags herself (more or less).</p><p>Cameos from other characters, but mostly just Clara/Clara.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Curves of Spacetime

Clara Oswald has seen quite a lot in her travels with the Doctor, whether quick little day trips or longer excursions (like today). She's rather gotten used to it, she thinks with a touch of pride as she lies facedown on her bunk, book now forgotten. But standing at the door is perhaps the strangest thing she has yet to see. “Hello,” the figure in the door begins, brushing familiar dark-brown hair away from her eyes. “My bum does look rather fetching, doesn't it?” She extends a hand as Clara shoots up from the bed. “Just call me Miss Oswald,” she tells Clara. “It'll make things easier for both of us.”

“Sorry, why are you here, exactly?” Clara asks, casting an eye up and down, well, herself. From the future, she assumes, since she can't remember doing this. “Not that I mind.” She feels underdressed in just a nightgown, though she supposes that at least she's only trying to impress herself.

“In as simple terms as I can put it,” Miss Oswald begins. Do I really sound like that when I'm teaching, Clara wonders? “Because you're a control freak.”

“No, I'm really not.”

“Yes, you are,” Miss Oswald tells her. “You won't be able to admit it to yourself for a while, let alone the Doctor. But for someone who goes gallivanting across the galaxy in a poorly-steered time ship, you like being in charge of your surroundings. And yourself.” She smirks. “But for all that, you can't control your eyes. Up here, gorgeous.” Clara blushes. “Have you figured it out yet?”

“You mean you—we—I came back in time for a shag?” Miss Oswald cocks an eyebrow in response and grins, hands on her hips. 

“Like I said,” Miss Oswald explains. “You don't trust anyone else well enough to let your guard down, but you've always wanted to let go, just for an hour.” She glances at the clock on the bedside table. “Or four.”

“Do I have a choice?” Clara asks. “I mean, if you've already done this once as me...”

“You were the one who suggested a shag,” Miss Oswald reminds her. “I might have come back just to ogle, or chat.” She crosses the room to sit in an armchair, putting her feet up on an ottoman and kicking off her heels. Legs spread and skirt riding up her thighs, she grabs a paperback from an end table. “Whenever you're ready, then.”

Clara stands, twitching and writhing in place, fingers toying with the buttons of her nightgown. She had to admit that her future self had told the truth—and was extremely tempting, to boot. She knew, because the Doctor had told her that much, that they had had an adventure where they had managed to cause a paradox by breaking a causality loop, whatever the hell that meant. She couldn't remember anything about it. She wanted to remember this, she decides, and unbuttons her nightgown. Time can be rewritten, she reminds herself, the Doctor's voice in her ear. She's still in control, she knows. A smile quirks at the corners of her mouth. In control at least for a little while yet, she guesses, if she's reading her future self properly. She shrugs off her nightgown and drops to her hands and knees, crawling over to where she can curl up between her future self's legs and reach up to her panties. “Is this what you wanted, Miss Oswald?” she asks submissively. 

Miss Oswald grins and sets aside the novel, her bare heels resting gently on Clara's back. “It's a good start,” she acknowledges, toes curling and heels digging in as Clara kisses the underside of her knee reverently. “But you're going to be a very, very good girl for me.”


	2. Impossible

They had landed in Victorian London to investigate a glitch in the fabric of reality, Clara knew. They had recruited Jenny, Vastra, and Strax, and the five of them had fanned out across a seedy looking neighborhood. “How am I supposed to recognize it?” she had asked the Doctor.

“Oh, you'll probably recognize it when you see it,” he had told her before dashing away, coat flapping behind him.

“Brilliant,” she mutters now, scanning the buildings to her right as she walks on, distracted in the rain. “As if I'm just going to walk right into it.” As she says this, she sees a flash of motion in the corner of her eye, turning right just in time to clip the other woman with her shoulder. “I'm so sorry,” she apologizes automatically before she even sees the victim of her carelessness. When she does, they both blink.

“You're awfully familiar,” the other woman quips. Clara can't help but agree; apart from the Cockney accent, she could nearly be watching herself on film. “You'd better come up to my flat, and explain yourself. You can change out of those wet clothes while you do.” She appraises Clara. “I expect mine will fit.”

“I expect so,” Clara replies. Well, this certainly looks like a glitch in reality to her.

Ten minutes and a mug of strong tea later (just the way she liked it), strong fingers were undoing her corset.

“This really shouldn't be possible,” the echo says, even as she finishes undressing Clara, their wet clothes in a heap on the floor. She had seemed to follow Clara's explanation of events, but they had both decided that they'd rather act on their desires than waste time with a headache. They weren't really the same person, after all, and Clara hadn't let the ethical issues stop her then, though the echo certainly felt real enough. That suited Clara just fine, she decides, as those same fingers reached around to cup her breast. “But you say you've done something like this before?”

“Yes,” Clara manages between gasps. She admires her...selves...in the mirror. “With a future version of me.”

“Kinky,” the echo replies. “Of course, people think that it's impossible for two women to be together like this, which is why it's not technically illegal. But then, I've certainly done some impossible things by that standard.”

Clara spins around to kiss her echo. “Gorgeous, you have no idea.” She grins. “I figure we've got a good half-hour before my friends start worrying about me. And maybe I'll have dried out by then.”

“I hope not,” her echo teases, and her hand steals up Clara's thigh, making her gasp. She shudders her way into the small cot along the edge of the room. Her echo grins and clambers in with her. Clara kisses her again and playfully wrestles her onto her back. That self-defense course paid off for a change, she thinks.

Two hours later, Clara and her echo share a goodbye kiss in the doorway to the flat. A familiar, polite cough grabs Clara's attention. “You appear to have located the anomaly, ma'am” Jenny says pointedly. “I trust you enjoyed yourself, so to speak.” 

Clara isn't sure whether to blush with embarrassment, groan at the pun, or swagger with sexual afterglow, and manages none of these. “Oh, shut it,” she says at last.

“Friend of yours?” the echo asks, obviously angling for an introduction.

“Married,” Jenny notes with an apologetic curtsy. “But I'll ask my wife. Come on, then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The joke here is that female/female sex was generally considered impossible in the Victorian era and so was not legislated against, even as penalties on male/male sex were increased.
> 
> And, erm, don't try to figure out how this works into the same timeline as The Snowmen. My position is that, given how many adventures the Doctor has in Victorian England, there must be an awful lot of echoes roaming the cobblestones and just missing each other.


	3. Real and yet Unreal

Clara grins as the TARDIS materializes in her kitchen, and the Doctor pulls her into a welcoming hug. “Where are we going today?” she asks, bouncing gleefully into the TARDIS.

“It's a surprise,” the Doctor tells her, irrepressible grin peeking out beneath his floppy bangs. She snaps her fingers to close the door as he dashes around the console. 

“Good surprise?” she asks, a split-second before the Doctor's face falls.

“Clara! Hold on!” he cries as the TARDIS caroms through time and space.

“Bad surprise?” she gasps.

“We've drifted across a tear in time and space,” he calls in return. 

“Bad, then.” Clara determines as they are tossed around the console room. She slides across the glass floor as the TARDIS slams to a stop. “Doctor, where are we?”

“Alternate dimension.” He squints up at the sunlight. “Doesn't look too dangerous. Shall we explore?” They split up, agreeing to meet back at the TARDIS if anything strange happens.

Clara wends her way through what looks like a mass of trailers and is nearly through when she sees a familiar face. “Not again,” she mutters.

“Are you my stunt double, then?” Jenna Coleman asks. “You're a much closer match than the usual girl,” she adds approvingly.

“What?” Clara asks, confused.

“Mind, I didn't think I really needed one,” Jenna continues, obliviously. “Just a bit of bouncing around the console room while we fall into an alternate dimension. Just a little short for the DVDs.”

“Sorry, what's going on?” Clara asks, which draws Jenna's attention. “We seem to have gotten off to a strange start. My name's Clara Oswald; nice to meet you.”

Jenna scowls at the proffered hand. “You're one of those nutter fans, aren't you? Look, I love a good bit of cosplay as much as the next gal, but...” she looks into Clara's baffled eyes. “You aren't joking, are you? You're actually her. The girl I play on TV.”

“You're an actress?” Clara asks, laughing. “Brilliant!”

“And a pretty good one, on a hit TV show,” Jenna adds defensively, still not quite sure what to make of her doppelganger. “With any luck I can parley it into a movie role, like Karen did.” She gives Clara a onceover, and shrugs. “What the hell, come on in,” she offers, opening the door to her trailer. “At least you'll be entertainingly mad.”

Ten minutes later, they're laughing like old friends. “So, which Doctor are you with? The young one or the old one?”

“The old one?” Clara asks. “I've only been with one.” 

Jenna blushes. “Spoilers!” she laughs as they move from tea to brandy. Correspondingly, the chatting slowly blurs into flirting. “You know,” she says as they break their kiss, “I've never thought of myself as self-absorbed before.”

“This isn't even the first time,” Clara groans.

“Well, at least we must be good in bed if we keep coming back for more,” Jenna reasons, and kisses Clara again. 

“I like to think so,” Clara agrees, and reaches under Jenna's shirt to unhook her bra. 

“This definitely isn't on script,” Jenna laughs, and wriggles out of her top. “Family entertainment and all that.” 

“I guess we don't have to worry about causing some sort of paradox, then,” Clara ventures hopefully, stepping out of her skirt.

“Not unless Peter meets your Doctor,” Jenna puns. “Come on then,” she beckons, panties tangling around her ankles. “You're the one who claims to be a pro at this sort of thing. Show me what we like.”

The two women have just gotten themselves put back together when the Doctor barges in. “Clara, I've just seen the most remarkable thing.” He pauses, letting his chin bob up and down for a moment. “Well, a remarkable thing. Jenny and Vastra! Except I think Vastra must have used a chameleon arch—I hardly recognized her.” His hands flutter with excitement and confusion. “That is one way to solve the lifespan issue, though I don't know why Jenny didn't turn into a Silurian. Very graceful species.”

“You weren't kidding,” Jenna mutters, just as Clara is about to observe that the Doctor wouldn't recognize grace if it bit him on the ass; still, she manages to convey the sentiment with a look. “Not that I doubted you, really.” A split-second pause, then, even faster than the Doctor can fill the silence: “Can I see it? The TARDIS?”

Clara laughs. “Come on, you've seen everything else.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for a fairly bog-standard "the real world is a parallel universe" story; I don't apologize for my dreadful puns.


	4. Flight

“Doctor?” Clara calls into the depths of the TARDIS. Something had exploded, distant and echoing, and the Doctor had gone off to repair it. “Stay here,” he had said. “Get to know the old girl a bit better.” That had been twenty minutes ago, and there was no sign of the sneaky grey bastard. 

“He'd better not be screwing around with me,” she mutters, and hops up out of the chair where she's been reading, taking a lap of the room to stretch her legs. Her hand trails along the console where it grazes the telepathic interface. Well, that would be one way to say hello to the TARDIS, she thinks, and stretches out her hands, sinking her fingers into the gel. 

Hello, she thinks. I know we've had our differences in the past, but I think we've reached a nice understanding.

Yes, the TARDIS seems to purr in reply.

Don't take this the wrong way, Clara continues, somewhat bashfully, but I kind of like flying you.

Yes, the TARDIS agrees. I should have liked to fly you. I have picked a form which will be calibrated to be most pleasant to you.

“Wait,” Clara can't help but say aloud. “When you say fly?..” Her brain supplies the rest of the details.

Yes, the TARDIS agrees for the third time. Despite the fact that I am an ancient, multidimensional ship of nigh-infinite capacity and you will have been a human, I believe I have found a form of ideal compatibility. Do you consent?

As the TARDIS asks this last question, Clara can feel the air shiver behind her. Instinctively she glances into the glass of the time rotor, and sees only her own face. Twice. 

Kinky, Clara thinks, as the TARDIS's hologram draws up behind her. She can feel the pressure, but not the warmth. Is that breath on the back of her neck, or just the breeze?

You are still wearing the holographic clothes? It asks.

Awfully convenient for all those adventures in the past, Clara says defensively. Beats the hell out of pulling on a medieval gown by myself.

Yes, the TARDIS agrees. Virtual teeth press against the skin of Clara's ear. I have always liked the biting, it--she? adds as an aside.

For a machine of nigh-infinite capacity, you sure have a limited vocabulary, Clara snarks.

It occurs to me, the TARDIS tells her, modulating electrical fields around her, that it is convenient in other ways, and suddenly Clara is naked in the blink of an eye. Cool, firm fingers reach down and cup her mound. 

“Oh, fuck,” Clara moans, and she leans against the console to let the gel of the interface press against her from navel to nipples.

“Bloody finally,” the Doctor mutters, tightening the focus on the cameras with one hand as he unzips his fly with the other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 4 is partially the result of Listen (really? Nobody's run with the interface?) and partially the result of my head-canon as to why Clara can change into these fancy get-ups at the drop of a hat in Deep Breath and Robot of Sherwood. And yes, the Twelfth Doctor is meant to be a bit of a creeper in this one.


	5. Trust These Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Between freeing the Teller and ordering Chinese, Clara and Saibra have a bit of fun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realized I missed an obvious trick by not including this pairing from the outset. So enjoy! Bonus lesbians!

“That...stuff,” Clara gestures to the vial. “Don't use it just yet?” she pleads.

Saibra sighs. “You really don't want to do this,” she tells Clara. “I've met people who thought they did.” She locks eyes with Clara. “I've never forgotten the way they looked at me. Sometimes before, sometimes after. Sometimes right in the middle.”

“Yes, well, I wager most of them haven't actually shagged themselves before,” Clara says tersely. Saibra looks at her skeptically. “Four times. Not that I'm counting. Or have developed a fetish. Or a complex.” 

Saibra's expression has changed ineffably from skepticism to 'I really wasn't going to ask.' But her eyes soften, and she nods. “I need a doctor to administer the right dosage anyway and make sure nothing goes wrong.” She barks a quick laugh. “And it's been so long since I've had a good screw.” She takes Clara by her clothed arm. “Come on, let's go.”

They find a cozy little bedroom somewhere deep in the TARDIS. Saibra turns off her holographic shell and unseals the skintight garment to reveal skin a shade lighter than her face. She doesn't let people in very often, Clara realizes as Saibra takes a deep breath, grabs Clara by the tie, and pulls her in for a kiss like she's leaping from the high dive. When Clara opens her eyes half a minute later, she's looking into familiar eyes. She smiles reassuringly and presses in for another kiss. She can feel Saibra start to relax under her hands, which only makes her more eager. 

“You weren't kidding,” Saibra mutters. “Well, help me out of this thing,” she says, and Clara is only too happy to oblige.


	6. Our Hearts Beat As One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clara and Bonnie, struggling for control in the Black Archive.

“Leave us,” Bonnie orders once the two Zygons have helped Clara out of her pod. They obey without question, leaving them in the Black Archive. 

“Well, I'm awake,” Clara manages, voice laden with sarcastic bravado. “Now where's my true love's kiss?”

“What,” Bonnie asks, taken momentarily aback. “You, and the Doctor?” 

“Oh, don't get me wrong,” Clara says, knowing that for this one blissful second, she's got the upper hand, “the Doctor and I are very, very close, even share a bed from time to time. And Danny was the finest human being I've ever known. And let's face it: Jane Austen?” She fans herself as she continues to stalk towards Bonnie, a predator's pace. “Blew my fucking mind. But you know what I want. Who I want. That's why you uncorked me, isn't it? Remember,” she says, springing close, hand around Bonnie's wrist, thumb on her pulse point, “we can't lie to each other.” 

Bonnie's breath turns shallow, her pulse racing. Say it, she wills her double. Clara simply grins as her other hand slides up, two fingers placed on the sensitive skin of her throat, feeling all the biological signs of arousal. Well, almost all, she amends, thinking of her own wet knickers. “Yes,” Bonnie agrees, and Clara cuts off anything else she might have said, kissing her and bullrushing her against the wall, using her own, far superior knowledge of her own body to her advantage. She presses a thigh between Bonnie's legs, feeling that rich, wet heat, making the Zygon moan. She pulls back from the kiss, teeth in a feral grin, more than aroused by the danger of fucking someone who could blast her into a pile of steel wool. But then, she's learned to love the danger, and she'll be damned if she isn't the most dangerous thing in the room.

“How does that work,” she wonders aloud as she throws Bonnie's jacket on the floor. “I mean, that's part of you, isn't it?”

“The same as your hair is a part of you,” Bonnie explains, unzipping Clara's trousers. “Really cute cut, by the way; think I'll keep it.” She snakes an arm behind Clara's back and wrestles her to the floor, the discarded jacket the only padding between her and the concrete floor. 

“Mind those poison sacs,” Clara gasps as Bonnie tugs her trousers down to her ankles and off.

“I'm in command now,” Bonnie proclaims, two questing fingers claiming her prize, “Just the way you like it, you Earth tart.” Okay, maybe the bright red lipstick was a bit much, Clara thinks, just as those familiar lips sink below her neatly trimmed curls. 

***

Later, Osgood has all but one copy of the security footage destroyed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here I thought I was done with this pairing. Thank you, Steven Moffat, for proving me wrong. So who knows; maybe there will be another chapter yet to come? I have one more vague idea that could still happen, but I want to wait and see how the rest of this season plays out. And obviously there could be other things that crop up depending on how the rest of the season plays out.


	7. Doctor Oswald. But You Can Call Me Clara

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Peter Capaldi regenerates into Jenna Coleman.
> 
> And in which there is all the angst because spoiler spoiler Clara spoiler spoiler Raven spoiler spoiler. Finally got a chance to watch last night. Not okay.

He has been holding it together rather well, he thinks, getting through a perfectly touching goodbye to his most recent fellow-traveler without even resorting to his flash cards. (And doesn't that start his hearts tingling...) What was her name again? He had nearly forgotten, but perhaps that was the blood loss affecting his memory. Ah, yes, another little detail he had pushed aside. Mostly internal but still fairly serious. In point of fact...he closes his eyes and turns his mind's eye on his bodily organs. Also heavily damaged. Serves his kidneys right, he thinks smugly. 

His laughter turns to racking coughs and red spatters the floor of the control room. Damn. Well, he'd had a good run, he thinks, golden light starting to well up from his fingertips.

He doesn't remember the next few moments, the way babies don't remember the birth trauma (he's asked). So the next memory he has is kneeling on the floor of the TARDIS wardrobe, with long, dark hair falling down untidily into his eyes. “Well, that's new,” he mutters, and peels off his coat and shirt, feeling an almost instinctive urge to change clothes after a regeneration. Far too large, which is nice; he hasn't been short for a while. “Oh,” he says. She says, noticing her breasts for the first time. “Sorry, sorry,” she apologizes to her body, a last trace of habit seeping through across the divide. “I've been misgendering you. And me.” She steps out of her too-long trousers and looks at a mirror. “Oh...” her voice trails off. 

She staggers back to the console room, still naked, because honestly, she has no idea how to dress something like this: legs too short, eyes too big. Her fingers slip into the telepathic circuits and she wills the old girl to find her. 

The TARDIS materializes in a familiar flat and she staggers out. Clara is wearing her pajamas and nursing a glass of wine before bed, and she nearly spills it when she sees her. “And it isn't even my birthday.” She stops short when she looks into her unfamiliar eyes. “You're not me,” she recognizes. “You're him. Well,” she giggles nervously, “her now. Fairly recent development, by the looks of things.” Clara knows that slightly dazed look, and the Doctor nods, can feel the old girl redecorating behind her. “From the future? From...after me.” The Doctor hesitates, then nods again. “That's alright,” she says resolutely, “two of me would have been a bit much full-time. Wasn't planning on living forever, after all.” The Doctor's breathing stops, just for an instant, and Clara knows. Frankly, she's suspected as much—if Danny couldn't talk her into a white picket fence, then probably that just wasn't her fate. “I'm sorry,” she whispers, one hand coming up to cup the face holding those same sad eyes. “It hasn't been long for you, has it?”

“Not long enough,” the Doctor evades. It may never be long enough.

“Finally met my match, then?” Clara asks, trying not to pry, wanting and not-wanting to know.

“You could certainly say that.” The only thing in this universe that could match up to you, the Doctor thinks, yourself: your own brilliance, your own ego, your own recklessness, your own bloody compassion.

“Okay,” she says. “Okay,” she lies, and it is the Doctor's turn to support her as her knees wobble, just for an instant. “So,” she says, “You came back.” Again. Clara's eyes flick behind the Doctor to the door of the TARDIS and for one split second, wants to just push past the Doctor and run screaming into the reassuring corridors she knows she will find and never come out.

“Always, for you,” she says quietly. She can't meet Clara's stare and looks down. “Would you believe I just wanted some help picking out a new outfit?” Clara laughs, voice cracking. “Didn't think so,” she says, and starts to duck down to kiss Clara before remembering that they are the same height now and bending her head back up. “Clara, I--” she interrupts her with a kiss. “We--” Same strategy; works better the second time around, and this time the Doctor doesn't say anything as Clara breaks the kiss to whip her tank top over her head. “It's like we're in stereo!” she announces as Clara steps out of her sweatpants.

That just makes the human laugh, because what else would she expect from her beloved idiot, the same one who thought that sonic glasses made sense. “Come to bed,” she orders, and for once the Doctor obeys without comment. 

***

After they finish and a new morning has dawned, the Doctor brings out armfuls of clothes as Clara pours more wine for both of them. They take turns modeling for each other: everything from serious suggestions to ridiculous costumes to frankly scandalous lingerie. “Which one am I again?” the Doctor asks. “My mind's still a bit...jumbly.” She knots a cravat around her bare neck, the only bit of her ensemble she's settled on.

“You're the Doctor, silly,” Clara reminds her. She passes the Time Lord another dress to try on. “And we'd better get you covered up. Worlds to save, friends to make.” She presses a kiss to her cheek. “People to love.”

The Doctor nods stoically and pulls a heavily-pocketed vest on over the dress. “I know.” Pause. “I love you. There was so much more I wanted to tell you, but--”

Clara silences her with another kiss. “I know—I think you told me most of it over the past night. And—and you make me feel the same,” she says, heart shivering around the almost-broken promise. “Go on, then, Doctor,” she says. There is too much to say; there is nothing that can be said. She waits until the Doctor and the TARDIS are gone, and then, only then, does she break down in tears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I know Clara implies that she's her own true love, not the Doctor, in the Zygon one. But seriously, have you seen these two the past two years?


	8. Me, Myself, and I

Clara laves her way up Miss Oswald's folds, and senses that her future self is about to come when a noise startles her from behind. “Who's there?” she calls, trying to decide whether she hopes it is the Doctor, or hopes it isn't. She turns around as Miss Oswald moans. 

There, behind her, was another version of herself. This one was the most dressed of the trio, with her fingers in a soaked-through pair of panties. “Sorry,” she apologizes. “I just really wanted to watch."

Miss Oswald stares at the newcomer for a beat before her veneer cracks, and she laughs. “Well, come on in, then. I suppose we may as well let you watch.”

“Nothing you haven't seen before,” Clara grins. “And otherwise we're like as not to have an infinite string of us trying and failing to sneak around.”

“Not that there's anything wrong with that,” the new girl says, and they laugh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one, obviously, picks up some time after Chapter 1 leaves off.

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter 1 is written for a kink-meme prompt (http://eleventy-kink.livejournal.com/942.html?thread=4399534#t4399534) which asked for fic dealing with time-travel self-cest. With the way Clara's control freak tendencies have been played up in Season 8, she seemed like an obvious choice.


End file.
